The door to the tavern slammed open, filling the dingy alleyway with firelight and the raucous sound of drinking patrons. Arnold stood in the doorway, jaw clenched, mouth curved in a grizzly frown.

“Gods damn it, David,” Arnold bellowed. The older man chucked a glass at the kid, who ducked, and the glass shattered onto the opposite wall. “I told you not to do this again. Do you want the whole of the Night Hunt to come knocking on our doors?”

“Uncle Arnold, I–”

“Hush it, kid. Get back in the kitchen, orders are piling up,” Arnold huffed. He chewed on his lower lip, staring at the body face down in the puddle as David rushed past him. “Stupid kid.”

Nathan spotted Cleo standing a few feet behind Arnold, watching out of the corner of her eye. He looked back at Arnold. The man was rubbing the top of his bald head with a hand, his face a mess of creases and lines. Life had not been kind to him.

“Nathan,” Arnold said, sighing as he walked down the rickety wooden steps and into the alleyway. “Help me cover this up. Maybe we’ll get lucky and no one’s noticed this yet.”

“You want me to help you get rid of a dead body?” Nathan asked

“Got a problem with that?” Arnold eyed Nathan, his expression harsh.

Quite a stark difference from his demeanor behind the counter.

“Not at all,” Nathan said, grabbing the ankles of the dead man. Arnold grabbed the arms. “Wouldn’t be my first time.” He watched Arnold’s face for any sort of reaction to his words.

There was none besides a short, indifferent grunt, like a bored soldier swatting at a bothersome fly. “In a place like this,” he muttered under his breath, “I’d be surprised if it was.”

They carried the body a short distance toward a cellar door. Arnold kicked it open with his foot and they walked down into it. Damp air that smelled of grain greeted them, wafting up from the interior. It was dark inside, the light of the stars barely reaching the bottom step, but Arnold walked confidently.

“Here,” the tavern owner said. They dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground with a wet squelch.

A match burned in the darkness, briefly illuminating Arnold’s weary face. His wrinkles looked deeper now. More tired. He first lit something that looked remarkably like a cigarette and then an oil lamp. Arnold exhaled a cloud of sweet smelling smoke, his eyes half closed.

Nathan looked around at their surroundings. Barrels and bags of grain were stacked against the walls, piled high. The ceiling was low, only an inch or so lower and Nathan would have to duck. Between them, the body of the lanky thief lay face down on the ground.

“Want a hit?” Arnold asked, holding his almost-a-cigarette toward Nathan with one hand.

“No thanks. Unfortunately, drink is my only vice.”

“Suit yourself.”

They stood like this for several moments as Arnold’s smoke wafted through the room, voices and footsteps echoing from the tavern above. Finally, Nathan broke the silence.

“So David is your nephew?” Nathan asked. Conversation had flowed so easily from the bartender when he’d been up above. Now he seemed about as talkative as a whitewashed wall.

Arnold took another long drag from his smoke before answering. “Not by blood. So, what’s someone like yourself got business in Aelsport for?” Arnold asked, his narrowing ever so slightly. “You certainly know how to handle yourself in some ways, but in others it’s like you’re a child wandering around without their mother.”

Nathan was taken aback. His hand instinctively started to reach for a holster that wasn’t at his side, but he stopped himself. Arnold didn’t appear to be suspicious. More just curious.

Have I really been that obvious? No. Definitely not. He just has a much more observant eye than I realized.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Nathan replied, an innocent smile on his face. “I just arrived in the city this morning. Am I expected to be familiar with all of your customs already?”

“Customs,” Arnold chuckled to himself, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. “Where you’re from, is it customary to walk into a tavern with no coin?”

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“Spent it all,” Nathan shrugged.

“To strut about without any sort of Veil disguising your presence?”

“Veils aren’t really my style. Too mysterious.” What the hell is a Veil?

“Then to be a vigilante and save an unknown boy from a mugging?”

“I just needed to take a piss and couldn’t find the bathroom.”

A bit of ash fell from the lit tip of Arnold’s smoke and landed on the body at their feet. Arnold stared at Nathan, then shook his head. “Nah, nothing customary about that.”

The hairs on the back of Nathan’s neck stood up and he pushed a bit of his new magic to pool into the tips of his fingers. Not enough to create any flame, but enough to be ready should he need it. Arnold’s eyebrow cocked upward, his smoke hanging precariously from his lips as he eyed Nathan.

“Careful there, son,” Arnold said, lowering his chin. His voice had taken on a more menacing tone. “Don’t do something foolish that you would regret.”

Nathan banished the magic from his hands. “How did you know?” he asked.

“You really are a lost child, aren’t you? Where’d you come in from? The Misty Isles? Someone as strong as yourself with a complete and utter lack of awareness about how they manipulate their Threads… Be glad I’m an understanding man, most don’t take kindly to unveiled threats like that.”

“I’m not from here,” Nathan replied, his muscles tense, but not showing it.

“And the Moonlit Goddess is a spiteful whore. Tell me something more than the obvious. I’m trying to do you a favor here before you get yourself killed.” Arnold put his smoke out, stamping the tip against a wooden barrel as he leaned back against it.

I don’t like the idea of revealing any more information than I have to, but he’s right. Walking around blind is only going to get us into trouble. This is like an interrogation… only without anyone being tortured.

Nathan smiled, leaning back against a barrel opposite Arnold. The lantern light flickered, casting everything in hues of yellow and orange. “Alright,” Nathan said, holding up his arms. “You’ve found me out.”

Arnold watched him closely with his deep eyes.

“I’m a professional killer that has found himself in an entirely new and strange place that I don’t understand.”

Arnold tapped his smoke against the barrel again, his expression becoming strained as he mulled over Nathan’s words. Arnold was obviously acquainted with death, professional killers shouldn’t be anything new to him. Nathan was confident the man already suspected as much anyway.

“I can tell you know your way around… Aelsport, was it?” Nathan continued, carefully choosing his words. “I would appreciate something of a guiding hand. As you said, I don’t want to do something foolish that I would regret.”

The man puffed his cheeks as he blew air from his mouth. Then scratched at his silver beard. “You have a place to stay?”

Nathan shook his head.

“As long as you pull your weight in work, you can use the extra room upstairs. A thank you for saving the boy.” Arnold lifted his chin, looking Nathan directly in the eyes. Eventually, he nodded. A terse nod. Understanding, and not questioning. He held out his hand, and Nathan took it, giving a firm grasp.

Nathan held back a heavy sigh. From their short interaction, he liked Arnold. The man reminded him an awful lot of his friend Carson back on earth. Someone he could enjoy a drink with, free or not.

Carson had been Nathan’s eye in the sky. An ever present voice in his ear. They’d worked together for over forty years, completing mission after mission, kill after kill. Until Cleo had put a bullet in his head.

“Head back up to the tavern and get your friend. The offer extends to her as well,” Arnold said, waving Nathan away with a calloused hand. “I’ll finish handling the body down here.”

So he had noticed Cleo as well. That was to be expected. If Nathan hadn’t had whatever a Veil was, then Cleo almost certainly didn’t have one either. He trudged up, out of the cellar, Arnold watching him leave, and then walked back into the tavern.

The smell of booze and the sounds of rowdy conversation echoed around him. A woman with rosy cheeks and her gray tinged brown hair tied back into a bun was doing Arnold’s job behind the counter while he was busy hiding a dead body. Cleo was back sitting in her corner. Her glaring eyes snapped to him as he entered.

Nathan made his way toward Cleo, pushing his way past several patrons. It was remarkably easier to navigate now that his head wasn’t swimming in alcohol.

“I thought you didn’t like killing anymore,” Cleo remarked, her voice dripping in sarcasm as Nathan slid into the chair beside her. She was idly playing with a silver spoon. In her nimble hands, anything was a weapon. Scoop out a man’s eyes, choke him with it, anything.

“I have no problem killing,” Nathan said, meaning it. “I just don’t like being told who to point the gun at.”

Cleo scoffed. “I thought you were a professional. What kind of hole have you dug us into? Are we going to have to keep one eye looking back over our shoulders after only being in this new place for less than a day?” Her hand clenched tight around the spoon

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Nathan said with a yawn, slouching down in his chair.

Cleo gave a snort of joyless laughter, but said nothing else. She’d always been hard to read.

Several minutes later, Arnold came back inside through the side door, wiping his hands off on a yellowed towel. He made a last call for drinks and then forced the remaining patrons out of the tavern, closing and locking the doors behind them. A deep frown etched his face.

Arnold walked up to Cleo and Nathan. “Minerva, could you handle things while I get these two situated?” Behind him, the rosy-cheeked woman nodded and began wiping down the counters. “If y'all would like to follow me upstairs,” Arnold said, motioning with his head. His voice seemed weaker now that the tavern was quiet. Tired.